


so give me your filth, make it rough

by estrella30



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Best Song Ever Video, Blow Jobs, First Time, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-21 06:20:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/896854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estrella30/pseuds/estrella30
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Styles has dirty sex with Marcel from the BSE video. Basically 3000 words of Harry Styles having sex with his lookalike, because wow. That's a lot of hotness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	so give me your filth, make it rough

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so canadiancracka for the beta! Any remaining mistakes are my own!
> 
> All of this is obviously entirely fictional. As sad as it is, there is no actually reality where Harry Styles is having dirty sex with his lookalike. We can only hope to one day live in such a wonderful world as that.

*

After everything is said and done, Harry feels a bit badly about how they all behaved. Not to Jonny and Harvey, because those two are pretty much just twats, but they were rude to Marcel and outright shut down Leeroy and all of his ideas. Not that they were very _good_ ideas, but still. They all could have at least pretended to be a little nicer. 

Harry hates leaving people and places with any kind of bad feeling about him and his band. The twinge of unease in his gut stays with him long enough that even after they’re done helping tidy up a bit in the main room he begs off from the group and wanders down the hall. 

Plus. Well. He kind of wanted to see Marcel for himself again. Not that Marcel is what Harry generally considers his type, but today has been strange all around. No reason to stop it just when things might get interesting.

“You want us to wait for you?” Zayn calls out, but Harry waves him off, scuffing the heels of his boots along the shiny tile floor and holding a hand up over his head. 

“Nah, you go ahead.” Harry gestures to the front door of the building. “I’ll call Cal and have him pick me up in a bit.”

Zayn shrugs but doesn’t ask any more questions, just bounds ahead and jumps up on Liam’s back. He smacks a wet kiss to the side of Liam’s face and Harry hears Liam yelping as Zayn slobbers all over him and kicks his foot out to catch Niall and Louis in the sides as they all walk past and out the front door. 

The door swings shut and brings with it a sudden quiet, the shock of it falling almost heavy on the air. Everything had been so loud for a bit – people yelling and cups breaking – that Harry didn’t realize how much his ears had been ringing until they finally stop. It pulls him up short, makes him lean against the wall and let his head fall back with a soft thunk. 

It’s quiet for exactly three seconds when suddenly there’s the squeak and then the loud crack of a door swinging open then shut, and a surprised sounding gasp echoing through the hall. 

“Oh! Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t think—“ 

Harry looks up, eyes moving quickly until he finds Marcel just a few feet away. Marcel’s blinking wildly from behind his thick rimmed glasses, the ruined image posters he’d shown to them clutched tightly under his arm. He tugs at the collar of his shirt and coughs nervously, gaze darting down quick to the floor. 

“Hi,” Harry says slowly. _Bingo_ , he thinks. He peels himself away from the wall and takes a few careful steps in Marcel’s direction and Marcel steps back and bites his lip as he looks up and down the hall. “Marcel, isn’t it?”

“It’s. Um. It’s yes. I mean, it’s not _yes_ ,” Marcel says in a rush, words bumbling out of his mouth quicker than Harry thinks he’s ever talked in his own life. “It’s Marcel. _I’m_ Marcel. Which. I mean, I guess you knew already.”

“I did know that, yeah.” 

Harry smiles slowly and holds his hands out in what he hopes is his best _I come in peace_ gesture. Marcel is just so bloody _charming_. “I’m glad you’re here, actually. I wanted to talk to you.”

Marcel looks up and down the hall again. He yanks at the collar of his shirt once more, dragging it away from his throat and loosening the knot of his tie with long fingers. “You wanted to talk to me?”

“Yeah,” Harry says and nods. 

“Um. About what?”

“Your ideas,” Harry says. He’s close enough now to touch Marcel and his stack of posters. He waits until Marcel is looking at him and runs the tips of his fingers over the top and around the corner, sweeping them down the sides before giving them a final tap. “I mean, they weren’t all perfect, but there were a few that could maybe work.”

Marcel blinks. He licks his lips and Harry can’t stop staring at his pink, wet mouth. “Really?”

“Mm hmm,” Harry nods. He taps the top picture and shoves it a little to the side. “The second one was all right. ‘S’posed to be _Take That_ , yeah?”

“Yeah. Yes.” Marcel stands a little straighter, shoving his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Now that he’s really looking Harry can’t stop staring at him; his wide green eyes and his smooth skin. Harry wants to mess up his perfectly styled hair, wants to take him home and get him out of that sweater vest, wrinkle his trousers and take apart everything that’s neat and perfect about him until he’s a wrinkled, sweaty, begging mess. “I mean, I know I would need to get the full bands approval, but I really think if you gave us a chance – me with my designs and Leeroy with his dance routines – well, I really think that we—“

“Come back to my hotel and you can show me.”

Marcel goes silent when Harry cuts him off. His skin is flushing pink, his breath coming quicker and shakier the longer they stand in the hall. 

“You want me to go to your hotel with you?” Marcel squeaks. “I mean, that’s fine, I guess. I have to call my roommate to feed my fish for me if I’m going to be out past ten.” Harry bites his lip and grins. “Do you think I should call him then?” Marcel asks, voice shaking just a bit. “Will I be there until past ten?”

“Oh, I should think so,” Harry says as he slings an arm around Marcel’s shoulders and turns him around, steering him back down the hall and toward the front door. 

*

Harry has Cal send a car for them and when it pulls up he slides into the backseat with Marcel, shoving his oversized briefcase onto the floor and hooking his foot over Marcel’s ankle. Marcel looks up at him and smiles nervously. He keeps making this strange little coughing sound that Harry should find odd but somehow just finds endearing. He shakes his head and stretches his arm over the back of the seat, fingertips playing with the edge of Marcel’s sweater vest. 

“So you seemed to have a lot of ideas,” Harry says casually. He figures it’s important to keep the conversation going now because when they get back to his room he doesn’t plan on doing much talking at all if things go his way. 

“I do, I have a _lot_ of ideas.” Marcel is nodding, the slicked back gel in his hair tickling the inside of Harry’s arm. Harry laughs quietly and leans in closer, curling his fingers around the curve of Marcel’s shoulder and tugging him in. Marcel glances up at him quickly, his eyes wide and a little questioning, but then he seems to settle on something and his mouth curls into a slow smile. “I have to say, this is fan-tas-tic. I’ve been a big fan of you guys for a while now. BIG fan!”

“Well I’m glad to hear it,” Harry says slowly. He ducks his head down close to Marcel’s ear and whispers, “Do you have a favorite?”

Marcel shrugs. “Maybe. But I’ll never tell,” he says, waggling one finger in the air. His gaze has gone dark, his bottom lip swollen from where he’s sunk his teeth into the skin. 

Harry smirks and shifts back into the seat. His fingers play with the edge of Marcel’s vest, slide up his shoulder to brush the base of Marcel’s neck and he shivers. .

*

Harry’s hotel room is a bit of a tip, the same way it is whenever they stay someplace for more than two days in a row. He wanders through the rooms flicking on the lights and kicking off his boots, Marcel following along behind him a little quieter than Harry expected, a little less bouncing, eager puppy and more...Harry’s not exactly sure. More regular bloke. More normal guy Harry would really, _really_ like to fuck. 

Harry wants to _ruin_ him. 

It’s making him crazy, if he’s honest with himself. Harry’s never like this, never sees someone and wants to push them against things, marking them with his fingers and teeth like he does Marcel. Usually it’s the other way around; Harry will meet someone and it’s all based on what they can do to him, what they can give him, not this cloying need to _take_.

He stops when he gets into the kitchenette, bracing his hands against the edge of the counter and dropping his head to hang down, shoulders hunched up tight. Marcel’s footsteps are quiet behind him, but he’s stepping in close, the toes of his shoes kicking against the back of Harry’s socked feet and when he settles his hand on Harry’s waist his grip isn’t as tentative as Harry would expect. 

“You, um, want me to put some tea on?” Harry manages to say. He hears Marcel laugh quietly, and something about it sends a hot lick of want deep in Harry’s belly. He tightens his fingers against the counter, shivering as Marcel presses himself to Harry’s back, his breath warm on Harry’s ear. 

“Harry Styles of One Direction,” Marcel says. His voice is the same but a little deeper now, a little more what Harry’s used to when he pulls a lad to bring home. “Did you really take me back to your room for _tea_?”

Harry chokes back a surprised laugh and turns around, Marcel instantly blocking him in, arms falling down to cage Harry’s hips. Harry’s shirt is still unbuttoned down his chest and Marcel’s tie is loose around his neck. He looks up and realizes that Marcel’s taken off his glasses and without them Marcel looks older, more predatory, a little bit dangerous even, and that’s just – not what Harry expected. _None_ of this right now is what Harry expected.

“Actually no,” Harry says. His voice is rough, tongue thick and clumsy in his mouth. Marcel shakes his head and tilts their foreheads together, his fingers tightening on Harry’s waist, fingertips sliding up under the hem of Harry’s shirt to rub against his skin. 

“What did you want then, Harry Styles?” Marcel says slowly, and fuck, that’s about all the talking they’re going to do for the rest of the night. 

Harry pushes off the counter, digging his fingers into the slicked back quiff of Marcel’s hair and tilts his head to the side, licking into his mouth almost crazily desperate. Everything is just too much; the whole day with the meetings and the running around the office and the bloody secretary giving him a look like she wanted to eat him alive. All Harry wanted to do when everything was done was find Marcel again, charm him into showing Harry his posters and maybe bring him back for a quick fuck against the wall in Harry’s room, but instead he’s got _Marcel_ yanking the buttons open on Harry’s shirt, curling his tongue in Harry’s mouth dirty as sin and pulling off Harry’s belt as he goes. 

“Is this what you like?” Marcel asks ,eyebrow arched almost delicately. Harry tugs on Marcel’s arm to direct him toward the bedroom, nodding wildly as Marcel pulls off his own vest and tie, making fast work of his dress shirt and the button and zip of his trousers. “You came across so big and tough in that meeting but I don’t think that’s what you really want, is it?” Marcel taunts. He knocks Harry back against the wall, dropping to his knees and tugging Harry’s jeans down as he goes. “Stay still,” he warns, then takes Harry’s dick in his mouth in one long, slow slide.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Harry groans. Marcel’s mouth is hot and wet, his tongue slicking over the head of his dick, fingers curled tight around the base and pumping slowly. Harry slouches down, spreads his legs wider and shoves his dick past Marcel’s mouth and Marcel pushes him, presses back with the hand that’s not on Harry’s dick and holds his hips against the wall. 

“Stay,” he warns, stopping altogether until Harry catches on and nods jerkily. His heart is tripping fast in his chest and he’s so turned on, so desperate for Marcel to keep sucking him off he’ll do pretty much whatever Marcel says. This isn’t at all what Harry expected when he brought Marcel home with him. It’s a change of plans in the very best of ways. 

“Marcel, please,” Harry whines. Marcel smiles and almost giggles a little – fucking _giggles_ \- before leaning back in, sucking his finger alongside Harry’s dick, rubbing around the head and tracing over the thick vein on the underside, trailing it out of his mouth and down the shaft until he’s pressing up against Harry’s balls. 

“Shove down,” Marcel says and pats Harry’s hip. Harry does and then Marcel slides his finger up, under and around until he’s pressing against Harry’s hole, the tip of his finger resting against him with a firm pressure before he’s slipping inside. “When we’re done here you’re going to take me to bed and lick me out until I come. Then maybe later you’re going to take my dick,” Marcel says, and it’s so filthy and sudden that Harry gasps and curls over Marcel’s body, back in a bow as he comes with a shocked cry down Marcel’s throat.

“Oh my god, oh my god, fuck, are you all right?” Harry pants when he’s finished. He pulls out from Marcel’s mouth and tugs him up, eyes darting over Marcel’s face and touching his shoulders and chest, making sure he’s okay because holy crap, that hasn’t happened to Harry in a damned long time. Usually Harry can control himself a little better, he can tell when he’s ready and warn a bloke but this – Marcel – Harry honestly has no idea what’s happening right now.

Marcel laughs a little and pulls Harry from the wall, shoving his trousers down his hips, and Holy Christ—

“Are you not wearing any pants??” Harry squeaks.

Marcel winks and kicks the trousers all the way off, letting them land in a heap of wrinkled beige on the opposite side of Harry’s bed. “Nope,” he says cheekily. “Now get the rest of your clothes off and get over here.”

Harry doesn’t need to be told twice. 

It only takes a second for him to kick off his jeans and boxers the rest of the way, but he’s still almost too late by the time he gets to Marcel on the bed. Marcel’s lying on his side digging through Harry’s bed table drawer, emerging with a tube of lube and a bright grin. Harry would like to be more cross about someone going through his things but all he can think is _good, yes, strong planning, mate_.

“I assume you know what you’re doing here,” Marcel says. He’s already lying on his back, one hand slicked up and reaching behind him to finger himself open. Harry takes a moment just to look; under the boring, preppy clothes Marcel’s got quite the fit body, smooth and hairless, not a tattoo in sight, just pale creamy skin stretched tight over muscles and long, strong looking legs and thighs. His hair’s gotten a bit mussed up, his quiff falling over his forehead and it makes Harry want to see him even messier, maybe without being all done up at work, maybe first thing in the morning, sleepy and soft. 

“Um, hello?” Marcel says gently, and Harry shakes his head and meets his eyes, grinning. 

“Yeah, I’m sure I can figure it out,” he says, because thinking about sleepy mornings is all well and dandy, but Harry wants to make this _good_. 

He crawls up the bed on his hands and knees, tapping Marcel on the side for him to roll over, a pillow shoved under his hips. Harry takes the lube from the bed and coats his fingers a bit, but Marcel is already slicked up from his own hand, a smear of gel glistening over one arse cheek and Harry can’t help himself, he leans in and bites him, teeth set into the soft flesh and sucking slowly. 

“Oh, _oh_.” Marcel drops his head down onto the bed, leaning against his arms and looks at Harry over his shoulder. “Your mouth, please. Your mouth is so pretty, want to feel it on me, fucking me open with your tongue.”

And there’s no way Harry’s going to say no to that.

Harry slides his thumbs over the swell of Marcel’s arse, holds him open and breathes hotly against his skin, loving the way Marcel is twitching and shaking under his hands. Harry loves doing this, loves being with people who want it, who ask him for it. He knows he’s good at it and he wants to show people, wants people to see how good he can be. He slides the tip of a slick finger into Marcel’s arse slowly, fucks him with his fingers until Marcel is babbling and sobbing for Harry to do it, to give Marcel his mouth, and then Harry does. 

He licks Marcel open slowly, licking over his hole in broad strokes before sliding in another finger, working his tongue alongside it, watching what makes Marcel moan, what has him cursing, what has him crying out Harry’s name the loudest and the longest. 

“God, fuck, you’re so fucking _good_ ,” Marcel says. He’s leaned up on his elbows, pushing back against Harry’s mouth, forcing Harry’s tongue even deeper inside of him. His hips rock steadily, slow circles that are making Harry insane, and he feels the rhythm of Marcel jacking himself when he reaches a hand under his belly. Harry goes even harder, sucks bruises into the skin where his arse meets his thigh between his legs and fingers and licks him until Marcel is gasping and heaving and coming all over Harry’s sheets. 

Harry waits until Marcel is done, flopped over and panting wildly up at the ceiling before crawling up after him, a leg sliding between both of Marcel’s, the come on his belly and thighs smearing over Harry’s skin. Harry wants to rub himself all over it. Wants to get them both dirty, covered in sweat and spit and come and then he wants to do it again and again, wants to keep fucking Marcel until he manages to get this crazy feeling out of his chest. 

His heart is racing like he’s just run a marathon and his hands are almost shaking from adrenaline. He takes a deep breath and holds it; lets it out slowly and looks up to find Marcel watching him with hooded eyes, a deep smirk curved to his mouth, and Christ, why did Harry ever think he was a _nice_ boy?

“So, Harry Styles, that was nice.”

Harry lets his mouth drop open in shock. “Nice?”

“I mean, for a popstar I guess you’re all right,” Marcel teases, but there’s a glint in his eyes Harry’s starting to really like. He thinks he can maybe get used to it. 

“Well, I mean, I want to really be good,” Harry says slowly. He smiles back so Marcel knows he’s teasing, even if he’s not really. 

He has a feeling Marcel already knows that too. 

“Hmm. Then I think we might have to practice some more,” Marcel says. He scratches his chin and continues. “I can make up more charts for you. Some positions that tested well, some things I think you’d really like.” He’s grinning as he says it, and Harry thinks _fuck it_ and leans over and kisses him quiet. 

“I think I’d be into that,” Harry tells him.

“I knew you’d see it my way eventually,” Marcel says, and Harry has to agree.

 

-end-


End file.
